Forever Almost
by fairytale ideals
Summary: There's never a warning for your world crashing down. Nick learned this the hard way. Deathfic


_I feel like I should preface this by saying that it was inspired by the death of my grandfather last week, and seeing how everyone in the family was handling it. Writing is my best outlet for emotions, and so this fic comes from an entirely emotional place inside of me._

* * *

July 18, 2018.

It should have been just like any other day. It should have faded into Nick's memory with time, the way that, over time, almost all days do. Only, it didn't.

It did fade from his memory, though. Not the day or its events, really, but the specific details of events, if he ever was fully aware of them in the first place.

Until late afternoon, it was just a normal day. He'd gotten off of work and was lounging in his and Jeff's apartment and flipping through one of the numerous magazines Jeff had scattered around the apartment with a grin on his face. When Jeff got magazines about something, he got _all_ the magazines about something, just in case.

The phone rang, and Nick didn't even check the caller ID, assuming it was going to be the man in question. It wasn't.

He couldn't remember reacting after hearing a solemn voice asking if he was Nick Duval. Only a few words stood out in his mind: Jeff, automobile accident, dead, instant, sincere apologies.

No. It can't be. He held on to the phone for a few seconds, just breathing with his eyes slammed shut, wishing that he'd hear Jeff's voice come on laughing or Jeff would appear around the corner saying how he should have seen his face. Jeff loved pranks, after all, didn't he? But he would never do that, Nick knew, and there would be no mercy for him. Jeff was dead.

The next thing he knew, Blaine was picking him up off of the floor (when did he even _get _on the floor?) and informing him that he had gone and identified Jeff's body so Nick didn't have to, but if he wanted to see him he could drive him.

Nick considered it for a second, then shook his head and buried his face into his friend's shoulder. He definitely did not want to see Jeff dead. If he didn't, maybe he could pretend that he was still alive. "He's... he's really dead, huh?"

Blaine let out a long breath, half sigh and half sob (in the back of his mind, Nick realized Blaine was doing his best to hold back his own emotions for his sake), wrapping his arms around Nick. "Yeah," he said, his voice thick. "He is. I am so sorry." Because, really, what else could he say? What does one say to someone who is experiencing the deepest sadness they've felt in their entire life?

They just sat there for long enough that Nick really wasn't sure what time was anymore. His mind was racing yet completely empty at the same time; full of thoughts and memories of Jeff and oh God he's _dead_, but simultaneously he was having trouble forming sentences in his mind and doing anything but clinging onto Blaine for dear life and sobbing into his cardigan, occasionally sobbing out words and phrases like "Why?" and "This isn't happening."

Eventually, Jeff's brother, Taylor, came knocking at the door nervously. Blaine left then, as far as Nick can recall, promising to return later, possibly with Kurt in tow. Nick didn't want to seem cold, but he couldn't muster up much of a goodbye for him or a greeting for Taylor. He hoped they'd understand.

Taylor shifted from foot to foot, maybe nervously. "I'm sorry, bro," he said, which struck Nick as a bit of an underwhelming gesture, though he couldn't find it in him to be upset about anything except the fact that the love of his fucking life had been snatched away from him with no warning whatsoever.

Nick made a small noise of affirmation, wishing he knew what to say (Jeff always knew exactly what to say).

"This sucks," Taylor said, and again Nick nodded.

Nick sat down on the couch then, pulling his knees up to his chest and decidedly looking anywhere but at Taylor. It wasn't that they had had any problems; in fact, Jeff's family had been quick to take him in as one of their own once they had started dating, but Taylor was doing nothing to make this better. Maybe it was just Nick's mindset, but it felt like Taylor's awkwardness was suffocating him. And what was worse, he had that same distinctive blond hair, just like Jeff's.

"I'm not gay or trying to seduce you or anything, but if you wanted I could hold you or something…" Taylor offered, and Nick almost managed to smile at the proposal.

"No, thank you," he said quietly, his voice monotone because he knew that if he instilled any emotion into his voice, his voice would crack and it would quickly devolve into sobbing.

Taylor sighed, and said something about how he needed him to eat. When Nick didn't offer any specific requests, he disappeared into the kitchen with a shrug and a promise to make something that he'd like. Whatever it was that Taylor made (another detail lost in the haze of _Jeff'sdeadohgodJeff'sdead_), he must have eaten enough to sate Taylor, because he left shortly after once Nick assured him he'd be fine and just needed to be alone.

For a while after Taylor left, Nick stood in the middle of the living room (once again, he really wasn't sure how _long_ he stood there). He kept waiting for Jeff to throw himself over the back of the couch (one leg on the back of the couch and one leg dangling to the ground just like he always did) and ask him what he was doing, or to crack some joke. He kept waiting for Jeff to walk in the door carrying cake or cookies or some form of food to apologize for getting home late. He kept waiting for Jeff to walk up and grab the front of his shirt with a smirk and drag him back to their bedroom. He kept waiting for Jeff to at least call and say why he wasn't home from work because he always did.

When none of that happened, Nick turned to go to their (his?) bedroom alone. As he passed the nook he'd been reading in earlier, the wedding magazine, still left open, caught his eye. The smiling groom on the glossy paper staring up at him made him feel sick.

He crawled into bed, trying to ignore the fact that Jeff's side of the bed was empty, still tucked in from that morning. It felt surreal, really. Had it really only been hours since Jeff had nudged him out of bed like every other morning, saying Nick had to get up because he never made the bed and Jeff hated when it looked sloppy. Had it really only been hours since they'd been getting ready that morning, stealing kisses as they got dressed?

Lying in bed, Nick can't stop thinking about their kisses (from soft and lazy to hard and needy and everywhere in between) and their whispered plans (from lunch the next day to promises of forever and everywhere in between) and the way they just held onto each other at night and sometimes when Nick was the big spoon, he'd reach around and grab Jeff's left hand and fiddle with the ring there and grin into Jeff's neck.

Sleep didn't visit him that night.

* * *

He spent most of the next day sitting in the office in the nearest funeral home, working alongside Jeff's mother, who had flown out on the first flight she could get once she heard about Jeff's death, with the director to get the funeral put together.

Thankfully, Mrs. Sterling was always a woman of grace under pressure, and she was just about as composed as someone could be while planning the funeral of their son, dead at twenty-three. For the most part, she was getting everything handled and set up for the funeral, which was to be held on Saturday. Dead on Wednesday, in the ground on Saturday. Just like that, gone.

It was too much to handle. It was all Nick could do not to scream, "He's not dead, this is all a lie, he's going to be back any second!" The director (he had a name, Nick was sure he had given them a name to call him when they walked in, but he couldn't bring himself to care that much), while his face was solemn and respectful, just seemed so damn _casual_ about it, and Nick couldn't handle it. The love of his life was dead and this man was just going about this conversation, business as usual, the fact that this was anything more than just some business meeting brushed away with a quick assurance of "condolences from all of us here at Lee Funeral Home."

Nick clenched his hands at his sides. He knew that it was wrong to get mad at the man. After all, this was his _job_. It wasn't his fault that Jeff was dead. It wasn't his fault that that fucking driver hadn't been looking at the road. It wasn't his fault that Nick was now using the money they'd designated for their wedding to pay for Jeff's funeral.

He just needed to be mad. He needed to be angry and he needed to scream and he needed to blame people and most of all he just need to accept the fact that Jeff was gone and there was nothing he or Mrs. Sterling or the funeral home director or Blaine or Taylor or anyone else could do about it. But right now was neither the time nor the place, and he just closed his eyes, tilting his head back and taking in a long, shaky breath as he tried to reign in his emotions.

The director was taking notes on a yellow legal pad, writing down basic facts about Jeff's life (because in the end, that's what it all boiled down to. Little facts with no life to them, just details like when and where you were born and how many siblings you had). He said that at the funeral they would hand out cards to everyone there with a short obituary written in them. It would include some family members that had died before and after him.

He showed them the draft, and Mrs. Sterling approved it easily, saying that it was tasteful before handing it off to Nick.

He skimmed over the paragraph that outlined Jeff's life: born in Massachusetts, moved to Ohio at age twelve, attended Dalton Academy, studied English at Ohio State University, and then moved out to New York. It _was_ tasteful, he had to admit that, but it was so bland. Jeff wasn't a person that could just be defined by a few sentences. He was vibrant and funny and he was an _event_, just by being him. And he was gone.

Then he read who his death was preceded by: his great-grandfather's. That was another stab in the heart; Jeff was so _young_. He was supposed to have so many years left in his life. People were supposed to outlive their grandparents, and Jeff hadn't. It wasn't _fair_.

The worst, though, was the last paragraph. "Surviving are his loving fiancé Nick Duval, his mother Jillian and father Derek, two brothers.."

Fiancé.

It hit him then. That was all that he and Jeff would ever be. He would never have that perfect fairytale-esque day that he'd been dreaming of his entire life. He'd never watch Jeff slip a gold band onto his left hand ring finger and do the same for him.

He and Jeff, Nick realized, would forever be _almost_. People would always remember that he was the man who lost his husband before he even had him. They'd always give him that sad look that he'd heard about but had never to this point been on the receiving end of.

"Yeah," he agreed, "It's good." He didn't even finish reading it before offering it back to the director. Pushing himself out of his seat, he ran a hand through his hair. "Can I just… Do you guys have a handle on this? I need to just… I need some air."

"Oh, honey," Mrs. Sterling nodded quickly in understanding and he left without further comment.

As soon as he got outside, he slid down the wall, his face in his hands. "Jeff, you can't just do this," he sobbed. "You can't just leave me. I need you. I can't fucking handle this, Jeff."

He pulled out his phone then, calling Blaine to pick him up and take him home. He could have waited for Jeff's mother to finish up inside, but he needed to be away from the funeral home. God, why was this even happening to him? He was twenty-three years old. He was supposed to have at least fifty good years before he'd have to deal with this, wasn't he?

When Blaine (with Kurt in the passenger seat of his car) arrived, Nick rubbed the tears out of his eyes and apologized for the trouble.

"Oh, don't apologize," Blaine said quickly. "You're handling this way better than I would if I were in your shoes."

Kurt made a little noise, but didn't say anything. He just offered Nick a sad smile, which in the coming days Nick would find to be the most honest, comforting gesture he'd receive. He remembered in the back of his mind that Kurt had lost his mother when he was young; he knew about grief, even if it was a different kind of mourning.

The rest of the car ride back to his apartment was spent in silence save for his sniffles and scattered uncontrollable sobs, though he did his best to keep it all reigned in.

Upon walking into the apartment, he noticed one thing above all else: those magazines. Just seeing them there, reminding him of what would now never come, felt like a stab in the chest.

"We need to get rid of all the wedding magazines," he said, and Blaine nodded in understanding.

"You sit, we'll take care of it," Blaine said, gesturing at the couch. When Nick didn't sit, just continued to stand as if paralyzed (he definitely _felt_ paralyzed, at any rate), he shrugged and gestured for Kurt to help him gather up the magazines.

A few minutes later, Blaine's arms were loaded up full of perfume-scented periodicals. "There sure are a lot of these," he commented.

Nick nodded, biting his lip. "Jeff was… Jeff was really excited," he said, his voice breaking again (would he ever be able to talk again without cracks in his voice like he hadn't spoken in years or without breaking down crying?). He didn't even want to think about how broken he sounded then.

"Right," Blaine said, glancing down sadly at the magazines in his arms and frowning as he seemed to realize that he'd probably struck a nerve. Shifting on his feet, he asked, "Do you want me to throw these away?"

Nick wasn't sure why, but a feeling of panic and dread filled him with that question. Maybe it was because that would feel like he was trying to pretend that Jeff had never been there, and Nick never wanted to forget. "No," he said quickly. He blinked, then added, "Just… just stick them in that closet over there, please?"

When Blaine opened the closet door, Nick saw the jackets in there that belonged to Jeff, hung neatly in order of color (he was oddly specific about random little things like the bed being made and the way he hung his jackets; it was one of Nick's favorite things about Jeff).

"Oh God," he said before he could stop himself.

Jeff was never going to hang up another jacket. He was never going to light-heartedly chide Nick for hanging up his jackets "completely willy-nilly" or "with the reckless abandon usually reserved for three-year-olds".

"Nick?" Kurt asked, looking at him with his brows furrowed in concern.

"It should have been me," he said. "I would give anything so that he could be alive again. He's so perfect and amazing and funny and I _know _he'd be able to handle this so much better than I am."

Blaine opened his mouth and moved forward simultaneously, as if trying to figure out the best way to comfort Nick, but Kurt shook his head and held out a hand to hold him back.

"God, he deserved to live. If anyone in this fucking messed up world deserved to live, it was Jeff fucking Sterling and he's just _gone_. How could this even happen? I need him back, I… I can't do this. I don't know what I'm going to do without him." He collapsed to his knees, shaking. "I need him to come back to me." At this point, Kurt let his hand drop and Blaine rushed forward to gather his sobbing friend into his arms.

"You're going to be okay," Blaine said softly, rubbing his hand up and down Nick's back.

It was a comfort, really, but at the moment, it wasn't enough. The only comfort that would be enough at this point would be Jeff's jokes. He'd always had an arsenal of corny jokes and ridiculous stories at the ready whenever Nick had a bad day, as if he was saving them up for that purpose (part of Nick was convinced that he _did_, that stupid, caring, perfect asshole).

"I'm not," Nick said. "I'm really, really not." He brought his knees up to his chest, leaning sideways against Blaine. "If only I could have just… I don't know. I just wish I could have done something and he'd still be here. God, I just wish… We were supposed to protect each other; that was going to be part of our vows." He ignored Blaine's visible wince at the mention of the wedding that would now never be.

"There's nothing you could have done," Kurt said gently, sitting down on his other side, though he made no move to touch Nick.

"I know," Nick said softly. "That doesn't make it easier to handle."

Kurt reached out a tentative hand, setting it on Nick's upper arm. When Nick didn't startle or jump away, he gave a soft squeeze. "You want to take a shower?" he asked.

Nick wasn't really sure where that came from, but he found himself nodding. Showering was easy. It didn't take much thought, which was good, because it seemed that in the map of his mind, all roads led to Jeff.

It should have felt patronizing, being led to the bathroom by Kurt and Blaine on either side, but there was some comfort to the simplicity of it.

Once in the shower, however, he realized that that, too, reminded him of Jeff. It made sense, of course. This was the apartment they had bought together; this was the apartment that they had put so much love and care into together. Of course Jeff would be all over it.

It started with the shampoo bottles. Jeff always bought shampoo that was, in all honesty, a bit expensive, but he swore by it, saying that hair like his didn't "just happen". And from there Nick's mind went to the countless occasions when they'd been in the shower together and he'd lathered that shampoo into Jeff's hair, laughing as he styled it as ridiculously as he could under the hot water. Just like that, he was crying again.

His foot toyed with the drain stopper on the floor of the bathtub. It would be so easy, he knew, to end it right there. He could press his foot down and watch the water start to pool around his feet. He could lay down in the water and let himself drop down into it. If he could just do that, if he could fight his lungs' natural urge to resurface and gasp for air, he could end the pain. He and Jeff could be together again.

He couldn't do it, though. He knew he couldn't. Not with two of his best friends (who were also already mourning Jeff, too) in the next room; not with Jeff's voice in his ear chastising him for even having thought it.

So he just used Jeff's shampoo and body wash, needing the comfort of his scent around him even if he couldn't have him there.

When he emerged from the bathroom, he found Kurt and Blaine sitting close together on the couch, their eyes red and lined with tears. Upon seeing him, though, they almost looked guilty, brushing away their tears quickly as if they had less of a right to be upset than he did.

It was more than he could handle at that moment, and he retreated to his bedroom. It was still relatively early, and he knew that trying to sleep at that moment would be futile. So he grabbed a couple of Disney DVDs and went back out into the living room. Not trusting himself to speak, he held up the small stack in his hands and gave them a questioning look.

He spent the next few hours curled up between Kurt and Blaine and they still weren't Jeff but there was no helping that, he knew. No one's arms would ever feel as comforting as Jeff's. He'd never feel as safe and happy and _home_ as he always had when his fiancé had held him.

After a couple movies, he extricated himself from his now-sleeping friends and padded back into his bedroom. He fell into bed, tugging Jeff's pillow to his face and breathing in his scent. He sobbed into the pillow, praying that that smell would never go away. He wasn't sure what he'd do when the day came that he couldn't smell Jeff on their sheets and on his pillow.

Realizing that holding it to his body would make it pick up his smell and lose Jeff's faster, he pushed the pillow away from himself quickly as if it had burned him.

* * *

When Nick woke up, his arms were wrapped around Jeff's pillow as if for dear life. He had been dreaming about just laying in bed with Jeff, and it had been so simple and it felt so real that reality was all the more jarring.

He could hear the clang of pots in the kitchen, presumably from Kurt or Blaine. Part of him wanted to get up and tell them that they didn't need to bother making him anything, but he decided against it. Reasonably, he knew that he needed to eat, and Kurt and Blaine, with their forces joined, made the best breakfast in the history of breakfasts (this was a claim that Jeff had made years ago, and Nick had no doubt that it was true and _god_, did everything in his life have to link back to Jeff?). And besides, getting up sounded like a lot of work.

A little while later, a soft tap on his door brought him back into awareness. "Nick? You awake?" Blaine asked through the door. "We made breakfast. Pancakes and scrambled eggs and toast."

Nick groaned a bit, getting slowly to his feet. "Coming," he said. Forcing a smile as he swung the door open, he added, "Sounds delicious."

When he got to the kitchen, he noticed Kurt's eyes were red again. "Onions," he sniffled. "I was cutting onions."

Nick would have laughed if he remembered how to. "You don't have to pretend to not be upset," he said. "It really… You're supposed to mourn, right? I mean, friends mourn. It… I don't want you guys to hold that back for me."

Kurt nodded slowly. "Okay," he said, "As long as you don't hold back for us."

He blinked at him, feeling a bit caught. "Alright," he said.

They ate breakfast in relative silence, while Blaine kept glancing up at him somewhat nervously. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn't sure what and didn't want to say the wrong thing and upset him. Nick worried in the back of his mind that this was the beginning of the end. What if Jeff had been what held them all together? What if the three of them didn't know how to interact without Jeff there? What if they always tiptoed around him from here on out? What if, God forbid, in losing Jeff, he had also lost two of his best friends in the process?

After a while, he let out a long breath. "This doesn't… this doesn't change things, does it?"

Blaine blinked. "What?"

"Jeff being… being gone. It doesn't change things with the three of us, right? I don't think I can—"

"Of course not," Blaine said quickly. "That's rid—we couldn't leave you alone to deal with this. We love you, Nick."

"Thank you," Nick said, turning his face down at his plate. "I love you guys, too."

"We're going to be here for you every step of the way," Kurt said softly.

Nick squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to not start crying again. "I guess I'm just sort of… my whole world feels askew, you know? Anything could happen."

After breakfast, he managed to convince them that he needed some alone time to help himself come to grips with saying goodbye.

Once they left, he found himself with no idea what to do. He sat down on the couch, grabbing Jeff's laptop from where it was still sitting, until then undisturbed, on the coffee table. He glanced over the tabs Jeff had open: email, Facebook (after a few seconds, a few notifications popped up, but Nick decided he wasn't prepared for that just yet), a couple songs on YouTube, a wedding site, a flash game, and Netflix. Curious, he clicked on the YouTube tabs quickly (Booty Man by Tim Wilson and Incompreso by DeLord, the dissonance between the two songs making him laugh) and then the Netflix tab. He had been about fifteen minutes into an episode of Hoarders.

It was just so _Jeff_, with his weird and almost childlike internet habits. With a sigh, he clicked to continue the episode playing.

Nick found himself crying again at the realization that Jeff would never see Claudie overcome her hoarding problem, and what's more, would never watch another episode of Hoarders or any of the other awful shows he watched ever again.

He had never been much of a fan of Hoarders, had always fondly rolled his eyes whenever Jeff would turn it on while flipping through the guide or when he'd lean over while Jeff had his earbuds in only to find him watching it off of Netflix, but sitting there watching it, he didn't mind. He could just picture Jeff sitting there next to him, kicking his feet giddily as he declared that he had "finally converted Nick" and asked if he could put that on his resume.

He realized that anyone watching him would get a strange sight: he was curled up alone on the couch watching Hoarders and sobbing. He couldn't bring himself to be bothered.

Once the episode was over, he finally clicked over to the Facebook tab, still logged on to Jeff's account. Several of their friends had posted old pictures of Jeff (some by himself, some with Nick, some with whoever posted the picture), made statuses about his death, or posted memories and goodbyes on his wall. A shiver ran down Nick's spine as he scrolled down Jeff's Timeline. Part of him wondered if he should just close the account, but he knew he would never be able to bring himself to.

He logged out then signed into his own account. He was met by another several notifications of a similar ilk to those Jeff had, though most of the messages and wall posts contained the phrases "sorry for your loss" and "how are you doing?" Within seconds, an instant message popped up asking if he was okay, and he clicked to go offline. It was rude and he knew it, but he didn't feel like pretending he wanted to talk to anyone right now.

He hastily made a status thanking everyone for their kind wishes, just enough that everyone would know he was alright and not completely rude, and just ambiguous enough that he could almost pretend it was the obligatory post-birthday status update.

Once that was done, he clicked to the pictures he'd been tagged in, and went back to the very beginning. He spent the next hour or two watching he and Jeff falling in love and growing older. Pictures at parties and concerts and events and at home, some candid and some posed. He watched the space between them when they stood get smaller, watched them start to always stand next to each other in group photos, arms slung around each other and smiles ridiculously big. He watched their hair grow and get cut, and watched their faces mature and their groups of friends change as they grew older. Most recently, he noticed the diamond ring appear on Jeff's left hand. There was a webcam picture that Jeff had posted that was just his face, mouth open and eyes wide with excitement, and his hand held up, showing off the ring for the camera.

After he ran out of pictures, Nick got up from the couch and set Jeff's laptop back on the coffee table where he'd found it, as if just waiting for him to return and pick up where he'd left off.

While he was already torturing himself with nostalgia, he decided to cross the room and grab his yearbooks from high school. In each one, there were random little scribblings and comments throughout them. Through all four years, Jeff had grabbed Nick's yearbook and marked it up as he pleased, saying he'd appreciate it in the future (Nick sighed, wishing he'd known then how true it would be). Freshman year included a handlebar mustache on Wes' picture; sophomore year included a crown on Blaine's head; junior year had hearts written in random places, including framing Jeff's picture.

What he most cared about, though, were the signatures. Freshman year, he had only taken up a small corner, then half a page in sophomore year. In his junior and senior year yearbooks, though, Jeff had taken a full page for his signature.

Junior year's page was funny, because they had gotten together that spring and he was doing his best to toe the line between being funny and being boyfriend-y. (It was also before they had said I love you, but reading it now, Nick saw the subtle ways Jeff said it, dancing around the subject without actually saying the words.) Their relationship had always been lighthearted (or, as Wes had described it once, "batshit crazy"), and he thought that the signature worked well to represent it: fun but tender at the same time.

Senior year, though, he had gone full tender and loving, which was exactly what Nick needed.

_My dearest Ducky,_

_You know I'm not much of a sentimental person. I'm better with actions than words, but this is the sort of thing where you need to use your words, and if you don't, you might get forgotten thirty years down the road. So I'll just take a moment to say that I love you more than anything in the world. You're pretty much the greatest thing to ever happen to me and I probably don't say that enough. And while I'm hoping that thirty years down the road we'll still be together, I want to make sure that even if we aren't, you'll remember the silly blond boy who had no idea what to do with his heart so he gave it to you. I know I'll never forget you. Also, it's your turn to pick up toilet paper. We all know what happens when you don't._

_Love always, Jeffers_

Nick found himself honestlysmiling in spite of his tears. Still, though, he curled up sideways on the couch and willed himself to fall asleep, even though it was barely afternoon.

* * *

Saturday morning, there was a gathering at Taylor's house for Jeff's friends and family (they decided against having it at Nick's apartment because it was small and he admittedly probably wasn't really emotionally prepared to host). No one called it a party, because doing so felt a bit distasteful, but in all reality, that was pretty much what it was. Some called it Jeff's wake, though that wasn't what it was officially.

Nick understood that standing around being sad for a few hours was not really ideal, but it probably would have been easier for him to stomach and, overall, more honest.

People were laughing and eating and drinking and going about their days as if they weren't all brought together by someone's death. Old friends reconnected, saying "I wish it had been on a happier occasion" but otherwise spoke as if it _was_ a happier occasion.

He supposed that would be what Jeff would have wanted. Jeff could never take anything too seriously for too long, and he'd probably be more comfortable knowing that no one was all too broken up about this. No one, of course, except for Nick.

There were a couple of their teachers from high school and professors from college there, which baffled Nick to begin with. Why would you travel so far to attend the funeral of a student you hadn't particularly liked? Curious, he walked close to a pair of them and listened in on their conversation.

"It's such a shame," one said to the another (if only he could remember their names).

The other woman tutted. "It is," she agreed. "Such a shame. He was such a bright young man. So much promise."

Nick blinked. They had _hated_ Jeff for his pranks. He specifically remembered the second woman calling Jeff a hellion. A hellion, for god's sake.

They noticed him then, their faces transforming into pinched looks of pity. The older of the two reached for his hands pityingly and it was all Nick could do not to snap them away. "Oh, Nicholas," she said, frowning down at him. "I'm so sorry to hear about Jeffrey."

The other laid a hand on his shoulder. "I remember when you two first got together," she said with a sigh. "You two weremade for each other."

They _were_, not that she'd know anything about that.

"Hi." A gentle hand wrapped around Nick's forearm, and he looked over to see Kurt had walked up, smiling just this side of politely at the women. "I hate to steal him away from you, but I have something urgent to talk to him about."

"Whatever you need, honey," one of them answered, smiling sincerely at Kurt.

Kurt pulled him away then, walking him out onto the front porch, which was temporarily void of people (the lawn chairs strewn about on the porch suggested they'd be back, though).

"Hm?" he asked, glancing at Kurt curiously.

"Well, at first I just thought you needed some air, but I had a better idea. So come on," he answered gently. "We're going somewhere."

"They're having the viewing in just a little while," Nick said, "and I can't really miss that."

"You'll be back in time," he assured him, leading him to his car. "And if you aren't, you can blame me."

Settling into the passenger seat, he asked Kurt, "So, where are we going?"

"Just sit tight," Kurt answered. "All will be answered."

* * *

Kurt stopped the car on the side of a quiet road that Nick would describe as being in the outskirts of nowhere as opposed to the middle of nowhere. Once they stopped, Kurt got out of the car and started wandering into the woods by the side of the road.

"I wouldn't wander around in the wilderness in these shoes for just anyone," he said.

"Are you going to kill me?" Nick asked. "I mean, there's something to be said for putting me out of my misery, but damn."

"No," Kurt said. He stayed silent for a bit afterwards, walking deeper into the woods in silence and occasionally glancing backwards to make sure Nick was still following. Finally, he stopped and turned back to face Nick. "You're going to let out your emotions."

"What?"

"You're going to let it all out. There's no one around that can hear you, just me. And I'm not going to judge you," he explained, crossing his arms. "So you can scream and cry and whatever you feel, as loud as you want to. You've been bottling it up, and it's not healthy. So just… tell me how you feel."

Nick blinked, unsure of how to start. "I'm upset," he said quietly.

Kurt nodded encouragingly. "And why are you upset?"

"Because Jeff is dead," he answered.

"Do you have anything else to say about that?"

Nick blinked, then nodded. "Yeah, I have a lot to say about that, actually. I don't understand how the world works, Kurt. I don't understand how someone so happy and fun and nice and perfect could die while murderers and rapists and just plain mean people get to walk around living. It's not fair and why did it have to be him? Why did it have to be us?"

He paused, looking at Kurt, who just gave him an encouraging nod.

He hesitated before continuing. Part of the reason he and Jeff had worked was that he was better at being composed, while Jeff had always been about strong emotions, good and bad. "And of all the times this could have happened—we had plans! We were going to get _married_! And now it's all gone, just like that, and he didn't deserve this and I really don't fucking deserve this. And I know it's selfish but I really wish that this could have been anybody but us. Hell, it would have even been better if it was me instead of him, he'd know how to handle this." By the end of his rant, he was practically shouting, tears trailing down his face.

He sat down then, as if his emotions were weighing him down (which they might have been, really). He couldn't be bothered to worry about his nice black dress pants getting dirty. His voice was thick as he continued, "But I also would never want to be responsible for him being in this kind of pain. I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I feel like a piece of my heart has been literally ripped out."

He looked up at Kurt again, asking, "Are you going to say anything?"

Kurt shrugged. "Only if you want me to."

Nick nodded, leaning back against a tree. "It just really, really sucks," he said. "And I feel like it's just… Those teachers you pulled me away from? They hated Jeff, but they were acting as if they'd loved him. It's just so… it's so fake, and I can't tell whether to laugh or cry and I really want to laugh but I don't know if I can without him here."

Kurt sighed, sitting down next to him. "You will," he said softly.

"You can't know that," he said. "Sure, I laughed before I met him, but he… I mean, have you ever done something one way, and then someone shows you another way to do it, and then you try to do it the old way and you can't remember it?"

He nodded and let out a long sigh. "I know it hurts," he said, reaching over and grabbing Nick's hand. Giving it a squeeze, he continued, "But don't you think Jeff would want you to try to be happy?"

Nick made a sound somewhere between a humorless laugh and a sob. "Okay, first of all, I haven't even buried him yet. I'm allowed to be bent out of shape about it," he said. "Second, we can't all get what we want, can we? I wanted to live a good long life with him, but he went and died on me."

They sat in silence for a moment before he dropped his face into his hands, crying again. "Sorry," he said. "It's just really hard."

"I understand," Kurt said. "And I meant it when we said we'd be here for you."

He nodded sadly and leaned in to his friend's side. "I just don't want to forget him. I'm so terrified that I'm going to try so hard to get on with my life and in the process forget about him. I'm afraid of forgetting what makes me love him."

"You're not going to forget him," he quietly assured him.

He rubbed tears away from his face. "I can't remember all the details forever," he said softly. "What happens when I forget the sound of his voice, or when I lose track of the way he smells? What if I forget why he calls me Ducky, or if I forget the feeling of his arms around my waist while I'm cooking dinner? I can't get just get those things back."

Kurt didn't say anything, just wrapped an arm around Nick's shoulder as he cried.

Once he calmed back down, he checked the time and sighed. "We should probably head back, huh?"

"It wouldn't be a bad idea," Kurt answered, shrugging his free shoulder. "If you're sure you're ready."

Nick sighed, standing up slowly. Helping Kurt to his feet, he said, "I don't think I would ever be ready for this, now or fifty plus years down the road."

* * *

Almost as soon as they got back, they were accosted to make sure they were ready to head to the funeral home. After a moment of consideration, Nick got into the same car with Kurt and Blaine, electing to not drive lest he have a breakdown and get into a wreck (and wouldn't that be ironic?).

There would be an hour of viewing that was just a few of Jeff's closest friends and family followed by calling hours open to anyone who wanted to see him before the funeral actually began.

It seemed that for some reason, because he was Jeff's fiancé, everyone thought that he would want to be the first to approach Jeff's body. He didn't, really, but he realized that first or last, he simultaneously never wanted to see him and was anxious to see him, to see what they'd done with him.

Once he got within a few feet of the open casket, he allowed himself to look at him, the dead love of his life. Seeing him there, his eyes closed and his hands neatly folded atop his torso, a hard wave of emotion hit Nick, and if it wasn't for Blaine's steady arms coming up behind him, he would have fallen to his knees.

He stared down at Jeff, sounds falling out of his mouth that could hardly be distinguished as words past his sobs. "Oh my god… Jeff, baby…"

He felt Kurt coming up beside him and suddenly he was enveloped in both Blaine and Kurt's arms. Neither of them said anything (there wasn't anything they could have said, really, and he just appreciated their presence comforting him and keeping him on his feet—literally) and the only sounds in the room were everyone's sobs and sniffles and his near-hysteric mumbling.

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, really. On TV and in movies, they always said that it looked like they could just be sleeping. Maybe that was what he was expecting. And maybe if Nick hadn't had such an intimate knowledge of how Jeff looked when he was sleeping, he would have been more able to think that. Or maybe that was just a TV thing.

Regardless, Jeff decidedly did _not_ look like he was just sleeping. He looked like he had been made up for a funeral. Overall, just looking at him, he almost looked like he was made of wax. It was almost as if it wasn't _actually _Jeff, wasn't actually the love of his life taken way before his time, but there was no use in denying it anymore.

He stepped closer and leaned lightly against the casket, taking in the sight of Jeff's face. Every little freckle and line was there, and there it was: that was his Jeff, cold and dead, and there was no way around it. Nick let out a long, shaky breath, wishing he could say that it looked like he was just sleeping. His face was calm, sure, but it was flat. There wasn't that lazy smile on his lips that made Nick wonder what he was dreaming about. Nor was there any of those little twitches of his nose or eyelids that made Nick fall in love with him a hundred times over.

His hand almost involuntarily reached over and went up to Jeff's face. His hand floated just barely not touching him—he knew he wouldn't be able to handle actually touching him, but part of him wanted to, just to say goodbye. He moved his hand down to Jeff's torso, fingers lightly skimming over the fabric on his arms. He bit back a sob as his fingers grazed the tie they had put on him. Countless times, right from when they had first met when they were fourteen, he had tied Jeff's tie for him or, on better days, fixed it for him. He had lost track after sophomore year how many times he had tried to teach Jeff how to properly tie a tie.

"He always did look good in a suit," he heard Kurt beside him, his voice thick with tears.

Nick smiled in earnest at that, in spite of his tears. "He did," he agreed with a nod. He stroked up and down the front of Jeff's suit for a moment before turning away slowly, tilting his head down as he moved to take a seat in the pews.

He felt himself shaking, and willed himself to stop. He needed to stay strong. There were people around, and he wasn't much for breaking down into hysterical sobs while people were watching.

For the next couple hours, he watched people approach the casket and gasp or cry or look out of the corner of their eyes as if afraid to look head-on. A few people approached Nick, but for the most part they kept a respectful distance and spoke quietly amongst themselves.

He found himself reading the little card he'd been handed again, looking at the dates. It was 2018, and he and Jeff had gotten together in 2012. They had only had six years together. He took a deep breath and felt a bit like pouting: it wasn't fair. He was supposed to have so much longer with Jeff. He was supposed to marry him in a few months, and then somewhere down the line have a couple of kids and just be _happy_. What had they done to deserve having their life together cut short? So few people ever managed to something like they had at such young of an age, and he felt like he was being punished for it.

Finally, the service began.

A man from the funeral home read a short obituary for Jeff, essentially the same thing that was written on the card. After reading off the list of people that were still alive that had been closest to Jeff, he stopped and looked around the chapel. "That's a gift," he said. "How blessed, to have such a family, so many people caring for you and looking out for you."

After he stepped down, Jeff's uncle, Henry, stepped up to the podium. He was a pastor, and he leapt to volunteer to do the service. Nick was grateful to have someone who had known and loved Jeff doing it.

The service was short, and Henry explained this by saying, "My nephew was never one to sit still for too long, so I'm not going to make you do that for him."

Nick couldn't have pictured a more beautiful service, nor one more fitting for Jeff. Henry made references to the Bible and mentioned God, of course, but for the most part, he focused on Jeff. Henry kept it lighthearted, just the way he would have wanted it to be. He highlighted Jeff's easygoing spirit, and the way he could immerse himself in anything and be content. He told a story about an eight-year-old Jeff sitting in the park with Henry and spending hours staring up at the clouds and telling him stories based on the shapes he saw.

He turned to Nick, then, stating that anyone who knew Jeff knew how much he loved Nick.

Nick bit his lip then, tears starting to flow the second Henry turned his attention toward him.

"I remember," Henry said, smiling fondly, "one day when Jeff was sixteen. Completely without warning, he came rushing into my house, looking flustered and excited. Before I could even ask him what the fuss was, he looks at me, takes a deep breath, and says, all with that same breath, that he was gay and if that bothered me I could put it a place I can't mention in a place of the Lord, and that he was pretty sure he was in love with a boy from school named Nick."

Nick wrapped his arms around himself, feeling the lump in his throat grow and like his heart was swelling at the same time. It was just _so_ Jeff.

"I met Nick a while later, and there was no question about it. Those two were crazy for each other. They didn't get together until months afterward, because if there's anything stubborn in this world, it's teenage boys, but rest assured that I got another visit from Jeff then, squealing and clapping and demanding cake in celebration because he'd finally kissed him. I couldn't have been more proud or happy for him."

Nick couldn't pay as much attention to the details of anything Henry said after that. He had never heard those stories before. He felt literally pained as he retroactively fell further in love with Jeff. You shouldn't be allowed to fall more in love with your fiancé at his funeral, and yet there it was.

Before he knew it, Henry was wrapping up and they were being ushered out of the chapel.

On his way out, Nick paused to tightly hug Henry. "That was…" In lieu of using a word to describe it, he just sobbed and hoped Henry understood what he had been trying to say. "Thank you."

Henry squeezed him back, and answered softly, "Thank you for loving my nephew."

* * *

The next morning, the graveside committal was held. It was simple and quiet. No dirt was shoveled or flowers thrown, just a few words and a prayer spoken by Jeff's uncle.

At the end, after reminding everyone that after a few hours they could return to see the gravesite once Jeff was buried, Henry laid his hand, palm down, on the lid of the casket. "Now, I know this is unusual," he said, "but as we all know, Jeff himself was a bit unusual, and he left a bit of himself with all of us, some more than others." He paused then, giving Nick a slightly suggestive smile that he wasn't actually entirely sure what to take away from. "And I'd like it if we all did the same for him.

"As you all leave today, I'd like you all to place your hand on here and leave your fingerprint, just to leave a little piece of yourself with our lost friend, brother, son, or lover as we lay him down." Henry lifted his hand from the casket and then placed it down again firmly to punctuate his statement.

Nick stood up first, walking up to the casket and placing both palms firmly on the surface. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to the cool surface, whispering quietly, "Goodbye, Jeffers. I'll always love you, my silly blond boy."

With that, he turned away, letting out a deep breath that turned into a sob halfway through. On his walk back towards his car, he was stopped several times by friends and members of Jeff's family, each of them pausing him to hold him and whisper words of love and encouragement.

Once he finally settled into the backseat of Kurt's car, he curled up into himself, tugging his knees close against his chest. "I don't know what I'm going to do without him," he whimpered.

Blaine slid in next to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be strong, just like we all know you are," he said. "You'll get back up from this, and do Jeff proud. It'll just take some time."

He sighed, dropping his head against Blaine's shoulder. "I hope you're right," he said.

"I know I am," Blaine said, smiling.

* * *

Nick went back to the gravesite briefly a few hours later with a couple of Jeff's siblings, but he only went for a real visit the next week.

He laid down a bouquet of lilacs and bouvardia flowers. "I got you some flowers, Jeff," he said. "I've spent the last week or so looking at flower meanings, because you were getting so into that. So I thought you might appreciate these."

He bit his lip to stop himself from crying. One of Jeff's most recent projects regarding their wedding had been picking out the flowers, and as such was doing thorough investigations into the meanings of all kinds of flowers. "I'm not going to cry. I promised myself I'm not going to cry."

He sat down cross-legged in front of the headstone. He reached out, tracing his fingers over the letters and numbers spelling out Jeff's name and years of life. 1994 to 2018, the sort of numbers that people would look at years down the road and say how sad it was that someone would be lost at so young an age.

Of the hundred or so that people now aimed for, Jeff had only gotten twenty-three, almost twenty-four of them. But, all things considered, he'd made good use of them. He was one of those people that felt so strongly and enthusiastically, that put their all into every little thing they did.

As sad as Nick was that they'd only gotten six years together, when he thought about it, it was more than he could have ever asked for. It was six beautiful years of loving and laughing in equal doses, the kind of relationship that simultaneously made all their friends jealous and a bit baffled.

"Even though I wish you'd stuck around longer, I'm glad to have the time I had with you," he said, idly rubbing one of the bouvardia petals between his thumb and index finger. "I don't regret a single day with you, the good and the bad."

He pulled out his phone, bringing up the calculator. "Did you know," he said, "that we were in a relationship about twenty-five percent of your life? That's pretty intense, and that's not even counting the time we knew each other but weren't together. We are _awesome_."

A tear slid down his cheek, and he hastily brushed it away. "I'm sorry, baby, I tried," he said. "I tried not to cry. I just…I really miss you. But I know you're out there, somewhere, watching out for me and passing the days until we're reunited. It helps, you know, when I get a bit hopeless. I know you wouldn't give up on me, even if I do."

He leaned forward and kissed the headstone. "It'll get easier, I know it will," he said. "But rest assured, Jeff, I am never, ever going to forget you. That's the one thing I know I'll never be able to do. I'll never forget you or us and I'll never stop daydreaming about what it would have been like to marry you and grow old with you."

Nick sighed, turning and leaning against the slab. "And above all else, I'll always love you." He turned his head upwards, watching the clouds rolling slowly through the sky. He spent the next hour cloud-watching, pointing out different shapes and smiling, really smiling, because moving on didn't have to mean forgetting.


End file.
